A Change of Heart
by SuburbanSherlock
Summary: One-shot chapter post-series finale. It was a bit weird that we didn't see what went down between Sherlolly after the brutal 'I love you' scene. Most stories on here have Sherlock realising he's in love with Molly and whatnot (go read 'em - they're honestly amazing!). So this is my take on the situation if that didn't happen. Just m8s. Very light reading, not detailed. Quick fic.


_"What is love, baby don't hurt me, don't-"_

Molly grumbled, fumbling with her phone until the alarm stopped.

 _What time is it?_

The ever-helpful and equally-condescending voice in her head replied.

 _"6am."_

 _Great._

" _Change that bloody alarm as well, Molly. Haddaway needs to disappear from your playlist."_

 _I know, I know. Plus, it's been forever since- well, since, you know._

 _"For God's sake, Molly. Just say it."_

 _Since...since the um, "exchange of words?_

 _"That's what you're calling it now? "The exchange of words"?"_

 _Why would I call it anything else? He hasn't called it anything. He hasn't even called me, so just- just give me a break!_

 _"Are you done yelling at yourself, Molly?"_

She rolled over, mentally flipping herself off.

That was plenty of self-reflection for one day.

It had been a long night.

Molly threw herself into work more than she had ever done before but it wasn't as productive as she had predicted.

Days and nights became a blur.

And today was the first time in a while that Molly had promised to babysit Rosie.

It's not that she didn't want to.

She loved that bundle of joy but she was just so tired these days.

Tired of everything.

Except her job.

She loved working at the morgue.

Something about being around dead bodies comforted her.

They didn't have any expectations.

They didn't roll their eyes or sigh in exasperation.

They weren't _Sherlock Holmes_.

Molly had had more luck venting her frustrations to corpses than she did with therapists.

 _Therapists._

 _Ugh._

Molly shuddered at the thought of them now.

After the shocking events of Sherrinford, there was a perpetual fear of being used as a pawn in a petty game by literally anybody associated with the Holmes family; anybody associated with Sherlock, to be more precise.

So she let this perpetual fear protect her from live human interaction for weeks up until the night before; the night John was finally sick of her excuses.

"You can't be serious, Molly" he said on the phone.

"I am- I'm really sick, John. Nasty bug, you know...", lied Molly, feigning a shaky cough.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous. A. you're trying to fool a doctor and B. you can't avoid him forever. Don't go to Baker Street. Come down to my flat if you're that keen on avoiding Sherlock. Rosie misses her godmother very much so you're going to do your duty and visit. That's that."

"But Rosie can't speak-"

" _That's that._ " stated John with an air of finality before hanging up.

* * *

She knocked on his door late afternoon and waited for a response.

Nothing.

She called him but he didn't pick up.

"Hi John", she said, leaving a voicemail. "It's Molly. I'm at your front door but you don't seem to be in. Give me a ring back, please."

He texted back with, _"Sorry, popped out for milk. 5 mins tops. Use your spare key, make yourself at home."_

And so she did. She waited five minutes.

Then five minutes turned into ten.

And ten turned into half an hour.

She couldn't even make herself a cup of tea because John was out of milk.

She threw her satchel over her shoulder, and picked up her phone again when the key turned in the door.

"Oh, _finally_! I was just about to-"

But before Molly had a chance to turn around, the voice she least expected to hear stopped her in her tracks.

Sherlock's voice.

"Molly?"

As soon as he uttered her name, equally confused as she was, someone rattled with the door from the outside.

"Right. That's my job done." said John, his voice muffled by the door. "You two are locked in. Sort things out like a pair of grown-ups, will you?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Molly frowned.

She didn't anticipate this. But it was about time she got used to a Sherlock-related surprise here and there.

Sherlock pressed his face against the door.

"John, you do realise I can pick locks?"

"Good luck picking all three padlocks from the the outside, mate."

"Three? Why is it always the number three with you, John? Wait, don't tell me. 'The Sign of Three.' Isn't that you named one of my-"

"- _our,_ " John corrected.

"...cases? Yes, that's it."

"For your information, the guy at the shop only had three locks left. So it's not all about _you._ "

"Of course. If that'll help you sleep at night. Now please, do open the door. There are precisely twelve alternative exits but the front door is by far the quickest exit route. And poor Molly looks frightened to death of breathing the same air as me right now."

"You what?"

Molly's mousy voice trembled.

"What?" said Sherlock, twirling around.

He didn't expect her to respond.

"I look frightened? How would you know, Sherlock? You can't even look me in the face anymore!".

Sherlock, for once in his life, didn't have a response. Because Molly was right. He couldn't.

He was paying particular attention to an annoying little dint on the wall behind her.

It was easier.

Once that activity lost its charm, he knocked on the door, showing no outward regard for Molly's show of anger.

"Show's over, John. Let me out, please."

"Oh, typical Sherlock Holmes," Molly muttered under her breath, apparently not as quietly as she thought.

"I'm sorry?"

"What? Oh. Nothing. I didn't- what I mean is, I see you're back to normal again," said Molly, "you know, the whole sociopath thing where you have no- no feelings or whatever it is."

 _No feelings._

Two simple words.

Two words that should've been a fleeting accusation, having absolutely no effect on him.

Yet, they hurt.

He had feelings for many things, towards many people, of course he did.

But he couldn't let Molly know that, not when he couldn't understand things himself.

Not after what Eurus said.

Not after the way Eurus so cruelly reminded him of his biggest weakness: emotional context.

"I knew it. I knew you'd have nothing to say."

"Molly, don't."

Molly suddenly had this tendency to burst out laughing and crying at the same time.

But with the will of whatever God was smiling down on her, she managed to keep it together.

The slight flutter in her voice had disappeared.

"Don't what, Sherlock? Don't be silly? Don't cry?"

"No, of course not. Molly, please."

His tongue was tied.

He strained to keep his words flowing.

Something kept cutting them off mid-sentence.

He leaned forward in a way that looked like he was about to make a typically impressive Sherlock Holmes deduction.

Only silence followed.

Molly shook her head.

"John, can I go now, please?" she demanded.

John resigned to opening the door at this point.

Molly didn't leave straight away however.

She took one step forward before stopping and folded her arms.

She was waiting.

She had always waited.

Her patience was astounding.

A few minutes longer probably wouldn't hurt her.

Or so she thought.

John stood awkwardly to the side for a few minutes, waiting for the tension to melt away.

Sherlock lifted his hand.

Should he have touched Molly? Her shoulder or perhaps her arm?

He didn't know.

"Molly."

"No, Sherlock. Stop it. I told you what I felt was true but you still don't get it. What do you see?"

This confused Sherlock.

He could see Molly.

He was looking right at her.

But he couldn't bring himself to see any further.

"I see _you_ , Molly."

 _Wrong answer._

But Molly shook her head again.

 _Poor thing,_ she thought.

Molly felt sorry for Sherlock.

But she felt more sorry for herself for driving down this one-way street for so long.

A sad smile twitched at the corners of her rosy lips.

"Well then," she sighed, "You see but you do not observe."

And with that final sentence which rendered Sherlock Holmes utterly speechless and sent John Watson into a fit of choking laughter, Molly Hooper could finally say that _she did it._

She did a u-turn on her one-way street, not caring what laws of the heart she was breaking.

She walked away from Sherlock Holmes.

She came, she saw (but more importantly, she observed) and she conquered.


End file.
